


There Can Be Only One

by JayRain



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Camping, Dueling, Force Mage, Gen, Magic, Magic-Users, Necromancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 10:52:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11125596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayRain/pseuds/JayRain
Summary: Even though it's her surname, everyone calls her Hawke.  But what's her first name?  On the road to Crestwood, Dorian and Hawke come to some amusing conclusions over which they must duel.  There can be only one, after all.





	There Can Be Only One

**Author's Note:**

> We were discussing canon vs. non-canon protagonist names in the Dragon Age Fanfiction Writers group on Facebook the other day, and it came to light what I'd named my head-canon Hawke, two years before Inquisition came out. This was the result.
> 
> This is set during "Fumbling Toward Who We Are", somewhere around chapter 9-10, and can be read as a standalone.

Josephine had said Crestwood was experiencing heavy rains; she’d said nothing about the rest of Ferelden, and Dorian intended to have strong words with her when they returned to Skyhold.  Even that crumbling and drafty ruin would be better than  _ this _ .  It was drafty, it was rainy, and there was no dryness in sight.  

Worst of all, and what he detested admitting to himself, was that he was lonely.  He’d grown used to being alone during his travels in the last couple of years.  He’d always stood out as a Tevinter among southerners.  Yet now as the Inquisition slowly came together, he was finding that nearly everyone had a place, and those with similar roles tended to find one another.  All except the newly minted Inquisitor, of course, but Dorian wouldn’t dwell on that.  They enjoyed speaking in a civil and congenial manner, as coworkers would and should, and that was all there was to it.  If Trevelyan seemed to flit between all of his companions, it was because he was required to by the very nature of his station.

On this particular trek, the Iron Bull and Varric Tethras were swapping spy stories.  Oh, Varric insisted he was a businessman, but in Dorian’s experience the best businessmen brokered information as well as goods and services.  The Iron Bull had sent his Chargers ahead to Crestwood to clear the way for the Inquisition; the Inquisitor kept to himself, and while Dorian would have loved to find an excuse to talk to him, he could tell, by the way the Qunari and the dwarf kept eyeing him, that it probably wouldn’t end well.  That left…

“Hey.”  Hawke settled down under the oilcloth lean-to that was completely ineffective.  “So a Necromancer, then.  That would have been highly frowned upon in Kirkwall.”

“All magic was frowned upon in Kirkwall,” Dorian retorted.  “Ghastly place.”

She shrugged.  “It was alright, once you learned your way around.”

“I’d rather not have to skulk about in the shadows, pretending to be something I’m not.  Or pretending not to be something I am,” he added.  That was what had led him to leave Tevinter in the first place.  

“Guess no one’s skulking now.”  She cupped her hands together and a bright ball of fire settled into her hands.  The flames were warmer and brighter than the campfires.  Dorian could almost hope that he might get dry someday.  

“You’re not?” he asked her and she glared at him.  “You and your lover single-handedly destroy everything Kirkwall stands for, and where are you?  Not in Kirkwall.  I find that interesting… what  _ do _ I call you?”  He sifted through his memories, and realized he only ever heard stories of Hawke, and just Hawke.  Even Varric always referred to her as Hawke, and he’d been closer to her than just about anyone except Anders.

Her damp hair slid across her forehead and into her lyrium-blue eyes.  She smiled.  “Hawke.  You can call me Hawke.”

He returned her smile.  “You don’t have a first name?  Is it something ghastly like Marian, or Elissa?”  

“Those are perfectly respectable names,” she said.  “But no.  Hawke has always worked.”

Now of course he  _ really _ wanted to know, if for no other reason than she was being so damned evasive.

He grinned.  “Harriett.  Evelyn.  Doris.”

“Now you’re going too far, Pavus,” she said.  She tried to look dangerous, but he could tell she was trying not to laugh.

“Minucia.”

She nearly fell off the log she was sitting on. “Minucia?  What the actual fuck.”

He did allow himself to chuckle.  “She was the wife of a Magister from Marnus Pell.  I saw her at a party once, and she looked as if she’d eaten the lemon garnishes.  I saw her once more in Minrathous, and only recognized her because it appeared she’d still been eating lemons.”  Minrathous: it had been a den of vipers, but it had also been home.  He sighed, suddenly melancholy as he shivered in the rain.

“Dorian.”

“Yes?”

She glanced over at him.  “My name is Dorian.”

He shook his head.  “I’m sorry?”

Hawke sighed.  “And you wonder why I didn’t tell you.  It almost makes me wish my name was fucking Minucia, the way you’re going on about it.”

“Oh no.  You don’t want to be Minucia, and you certainly don’t want to be fucking Minucia; I’m sure her husband would agree,” he added, and Dorian, Dorian Hawke, that was, snorted.  “The question now remains: which one of us will be  _ the _ Dorian?”  She raised an eyebrow.  “There can be only one, after all.”

All of her earlier protests about being “just Hawke” were forgotten.  “In Tevinter, such slights are settled with duels of the magical variety.”  He waggled his fingers and tiny bolts of lightning arced across his hand.  “Not to the death, of course,” he added hastily when he saw the way her face lit up.  

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of killing you.  You think the Inquisitor sulks now?” she teased, and Dorian suddenly felt very, very warm in spite of the chilly rain.  “Come on, Necromancer, let’s see if you can defend your name.”  She got up and strode into the rain, waving to Varric as she passed him.

Dorian followed; dueling in the rain wasn’t his preference, but he  _ had _ inadvertently challenged her, and it  _ would _ be fun to see what the celebrated (Dorian) Hawke was capable of.  “I do hope Champion of Kirkwall was just a ceremonial title,” he told her as they squared off in a small clearing far enough away from the main camp that they wouldn’t risk accidentally hitting anyone with a rogue spell.  “I’d hate for you to have to give it up once I best you.”

“I certainly hope you can put your money where your mouth is.  Everything in Tevinter’s for show,” she said.  He raised an eyebrow.  Even if his hair was plastered to his head, and his mustache did stick out at odd and asymmetrical angles, he still had his dignity.  Dorian Hawke bowed, but kept her eyes on Dorian Pavus.  Dorian Pavus bowed in return, eyes locked on Dorian Hawke.

She lashed out first, drawing her energy from the restless weather to send a bolt of lightning his way.  Dorian sidestepped it and spun away;  flashy, yes, but in duels one had to keep moving.  As he came back around to face her, he was already lashing out with an ice spell, staff aimed at the ground.  Hawke sprung backward and flung a ball of fire at him, but he’d put up a barrier and the flames dissipated against it, hissing in the rain.

They traded blows with primal spells for a bit, the both of them enjoying the chance to cast without the threat of imminent death.  Hawke was quite strong, particularly with her force spells, and she kept Dorian alert.  He barely had moments to blink the rain out of his eyes, and she seemed to be taking advantage of that.

Then she clenched her fist and pointed the head of her staff at the ground.  Dorian felt himself pulled toward her.  Time slowed down and she grinned.  Dorian couldn’t escape the pull of her spell, but he had his own tricks.  He focused on time and space and pulled on his mana reserves.  A globe of golden light took shape around him, and suddenly it was Hawke who slowed down, and it was his turn to grin as he got his feet under him.  She just shrugged and raised her hands over her head, and Dorian felt himself lifted in the air, the cold rain needling his face, before he dropped her hands and he slammed into the mud.  Well.  At least the rain would rinse him off.

But if they were pulling out their stops now…

He dipped into the edges of the Fade.  The spirits of death and sadness hovered there and--were they  _ amused? _  He’d have to have a stern conversation with them after this, even though he found it humorous that spirits would spectate human duels.   _ It’s just a friendly duel, _ he told them.   _ But if you would be so kind as to show yourselves, and what you can do, I would be most appreciative? _

Sure enough the spirits blinked into reality, coalescing into a wave of darkness that rolled toward Dorian Hawke.  She stared, transfixed-- not by the effects of his spell, but by the spell itself.  She’d never seen Necromancy at work before.  Dorian swept his staff around, and the wave shaped into a wide-mouthed skull, though the spirits kept the level of fear and terror they usually invoked at a minimum.  Many of his other talents only woke when there was death at hand, but this was just a duel, so he recalled the spirits to the Fade and thanked them.

Dorian Pavus and Dorian Hawke both leaned on their staves in the pouring rain.  “Nice work,” she said at last.

“You as well,” he said.  He offered his hand.  “If I must share my name with someone, I’m pleased it’s another talented mage.”

She grinned and took his hand.  Her grip was strong and she shook his hand heartily.  “Nah.  Just call me Hawke.  There can be only one Dorian, right?  Besides, I’ve never liked the name.”  She laughed when his eyes widened in offense.  “Don’t get your knickers so twisted, it’s fine for you.  Besides, I like Hawke.  Makes me more of a  _ thing _ than a person.”

“You’ve been speaking with the Iron Bull too much of late,” Dorian said with a chuckle as they headed back toward camp.  “But I do thank you for the duel, all the same.”

“Anytime.”  She headed toward her tent.  “Dorian?”  He turned, pushing his sodden hair off his forehead.  “If you ever tell anyone what my real name is?  Next time I won’t hold back.”  She smiled and ducked into her tent, leaving Dorian chuckling in the rain.


End file.
